


A Terror Quiet Calm

by ferventrabbit



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mizumono Fix-It, Plot What Plot, Smut, at first, can be read as slightly non-con, really just a lot of highfalutin porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferventrabbit/pseuds/ferventrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will makes up his mind during Mizumono, when things could have ended differently.</p><p>Written for sherlocks-freebitch's prompt on Ye Olde Tumblr Inn. Title from "The Alter" by Wye Oak. A Mizumono fix-it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Terror Quiet Calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkpriestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpriestess/gifts).



> Sorry for any pronoun confusion! I wanted to try not saying Will's name until Hannibal said it :-)

He is white-knuckled, the grooves of the steering wheel bleeding leather and sweat into fingerprints. He sees one eye in the rear-view mirror, sees it wild and blown wide. Weeks ago he was locked in a cage for hours and days and weeks. All he could think was  _ I know I know I know _ . The irony of this moment doesn’t lighten his mood - if anything, it curls dark around him with staggered teeth.  _ He knows _ , he thinks.  _ He knows he knows he knows. _

His car is running, console bright. Stevie Wonder is playing on the radio, crackling over old speakers. 

_ You are the sunshine of my life,  
_ _ That's why I'll always stay around, mmm mmm yeah yeah _

He drags his right hand from the steering wheel and hovers over the key in the ignition, feeling the engine beneath him. He’s blowing it out of proportion, really, this decision to stop or go. It’s the simplest lesson from childhood: stop at the crosswalk, look both ways, go where you’re told, don’t stop believin’, go home, you look like hell.

He twists it left, opens the door and rushes out before he can think too hard on it. He’s in the waiting room again, and then his hand his on the doorknob to Hannibal’s office and he can feel heat on the other side, feels the metal warm in his hand. 

Hannibal is as he left him. The fire is taller, wrapped around thick paper. Hannibal looks made of stone. He is facing away from the door, hands hidden in his pockets. He’s sketched in harsh light.

Then, slowly, Hannibal’s chest expands with an audible inhale from his nose, the exhale caught on a hidden expression. He tilts his head, and the air changes. 

“Forget something?” Hannibal says.

There’s still time to recover, then. Something can be said, and even though they’ll both know it to be a lie they can let it rest just briefly, intermission before  _ Reckoning: The Sequel.  _ The fireworks will be something; no one survives a second time.

He doesn’t respond. Can’t, really. Instead, he unbuttons his jacket and drapes it over Hannibal’s chair. It feels odd from this angle, and he wonders what he must look like in the opposite seat. Did Hannibal suspect, before this? The line was tight, the rod thrumming. No. He saw what he thought he created. But here was the creature, fresh born. There is hatred, and fear, and maybe, infuriatingly, a firmer grip on reality. He searches, noting changes, taking inventory. Betrayal isn’t there.

He hears his own pulse in his ears. It’s building slowly - deep breaths don’t help. He lets his eyes close despite the inherent danger, and after the brief spike of panic he feels comforted, quieted by the darkness behind his eyelids. 

When he looks up, the Chesapeake Ripper is staring back at him.

He watches Hannibal move as if for the first time, the stealth and quickness of it breathtaking. The black void he’d seen in the courtroom was stoic - it moved deliberately but with slow, measured steps. Its human face is more deadly.

Hannibal hisses into his ear. “Clever boy.” They are crowded against the windows, Hannibal’s arms caging him. He is still, and the thought of moving seems as ridiculous as the surge of heat that pulses through him.  

Hannibal’s left hand trails over and up, pressing on the throat beneath it. “You would deny me my life.”

_ No.  _ He shakes his head to clear it, and his throat constricts under the strain.

“My freedom, then. You would take that from me. Confine me to a prison cell.”

His vision is fuzzy, and Hannibal’s eyes are close and spinning dark in time with his voice. When Hannibal squeezes tighter he feels himself exhale in a quick pant, feels himself hitch forward, tears falling sideways. Hannibal grabs the hair at the nape of his neck with the other hand and yanks his head backwards until it collides with the window, glass spidering. He gasps a word, but it is a voiceless and desperate sound. He summons  _ survive, fight, defend _ and receives  _ calm, soft, relax _ . Crossed wires. He’s fading.

“Did you believe you could change me, the way I’ve changed you?” There is something in Hannibal’s voice, just there, and he can’t help but smile, wheezes a laugh that claims what’s left of his breath. 

“I already have.” His hands come up and cup the fingers around his throat, holds them there. The effect isn’t what he intended.

Suddenly Hannibal’s hand drops from his throat and clutches the collar of his shirt, rips until the fabric shreds and falls in tatters to the floor. Hannibal allows him a choked breath before capturing his lips, slipping a tongue between teeth and as he unbuttons trousers and jeans, cants forward and growls into the kiss. Hannibal’s fingertips dig into his hip, shoving him back to maneuver the jeans around his knees, his ankles, and then pulling him forward until he’s almost folded in half, spine arched back and back until there’s no choice but to bring his arms around Hannibal’s neck, slip his legs around Hannibal’s hips. 

He bites Hannibal’s top lip, chest still heaving. Hannibal carries him in the direction of the desk but they can’t seem to manage it - they end up somewhere in between, and Hannibal is saying his name, chanting it, almost, and he slips two dry fingers inside that sting, stretch. 

“You’ll let me, now.” 

“I know I know I know.” He cries out when Hannibal closes a hand around him, scoops precome from his belly and traces it down to reenter and thrust deeper, and  _ oh fuck _ , when he twists and sinks his teeth into the space between chin and Adam’s apple. 

“You’ve never done this.”

“Ungh just do it, oh fuck please.”

For a moment Hannibal wavers, looking down between fallen strands of hair. His fingers stop moving but stay where they are. Deep breath. Breathe. See him.

“Hannibal,” he says. “Hannibal.” He tilts his head back, takes Hannibal’s free hand in one of his. “I’m coming with you.”

His eyes -  _ fuck _ \- first as they close, then open and watch as his fingers move again, widen as he grips himself and pushes inside. And having him inside is almost as painful as watching him fall apart, and just as lovely. 

“I’m coming with you.” Hannibal bites into his mouth, holds him down and whispers something between his lips, in his ear, and then reaches down to touch the place where they meet. 

“Will,” he says, sliding his hand up to grip just under the head of his cock. It’s enough. 

Hannibal fucks him through his release, and the stretch sends a thrill down his spine and he shoves his hips down with a grunt, mouth open wide as he feels Hannibal coming inside him - a strange, hot feeling that has him arching off the floor, kissing Hannibal’s cheek and brow and ear and lips.

He can feel the scrapes against his back from the carpet, and his vision fuzzes again. He reaches out for Hannibal and finds him there, inhales sharply when his palm presses over Hannibal’s heartbeat unwittingly. He shouldn’t be shocked by it, and says as much.

“You’ve had no occasion to hear it,” Hannibal replies. He can - he can hear it beat counterpoint to his own. Memorizes its cadence. “It’s yours to safeguard. And yours to destroy.”

  
_ I know _ , he thinks.  _ I know I know I know. _


End file.
